Every Rose Has Thorns
by AusilinAzure
Summary: Rose. Her name is Rose Abernanthy. Orphan. Unknown. And, now she's the Hunger Games with Gale Hawthorne.


_Prolouge_

The young man, obviously Seam, strode into the room. He tried his best to remain strong, expressionless, for the little girl perched on the couch. She was just seven, and had ran to his house in such a hurry, repeating the same words, on loop. "Mummy's locked herself in the bathroom", she whimpered, "and she won't come out". That was when he impulsivley ran to her house, grabbing the girl's hand with an iron grip, who struggled to keep up with him, stumbling over the little pebbles showered over the ground.

He barged through the District, anxiously, needing the answer. He had known this day would come. But he didn't know _when_. And there was no way of knowing. But it just had to happen on the day he was released from the Capitol, after the grusome games which he, once again, failed to save his weak tributes. Who he had to watch die. Who will scar him forever, because, no matter how much he tries to convince himself otherwise, he knows that it's his fault. He could have saved them. Flirting more with the inconspicous Capitol ladies, to sent that little parcel, containing just a morsel of food.

But, no. Haymitch had limits. But _he_ was responsible, _he _was supposed to get them home, and _he_ was the one who failed. Just like the last year, and the one before that, and the one before that. For the last eight years, he was accountable for the accumilating deaths.

So he was running. Trying to save _someone_. Trying to make something right, for once. But he could feel it, from the blood pumping through his veins, that something bad had happened.

That wave of nausea that hit him on the train whilst travelling through District 11. That slight delay in the train ride, when the rest left right on time. And, worst of all, the way Snow glared at him, giving him a malicous grin, which obviously stated, 'I know your secret'.

The secret Snow referred to confused him for the past two weeks. Now, he's found out what Snow was planning. An instinct tells him to give up, that she's dead. But he wont. He _can't_.

The harsh District 12 wind whipped his cheeks, and at the course speed he was going at, brought tears to his eyes. He was unsure if this was from what he may find, or the chill of the dry wind on his eyes. He didn't really care.

The old, rickety house came into view. The little girl, with her startlingly green eyes and her profoundly pale skin, gulped down the dread colleted in her throat. She knew, as soon as her usually calm and playful Uncle had sprinted down the District, his grip on her hand so hard it hurt, when usually he would never hold her roughly; that something was wrong. She didn't dare say anything, though, as he stormed through her house, and she didn't object when he told her to remain seated on the brown, worn sofa.

Rushed and filled with dread, he ran up the stairs, which creaked with each step. The tapestry on the plain wall was frayed and patchy: obvliously hand made. The house looked warm, and cosy, but something was off. That slight something in the air, and he could feel it in the pit of his stomach, that someone unwanted had been there. From the muddy footprints, he could tell that there had been a struggle, and the footprints lead to the bathroom.

"Saphirre!", the man shouted, his loud, booming voice unsettling the birds perched on the tree outside the window.

No response.

After what seemed like three hours, but in reality was three seconds, Haymitch decided he could wait no longer and barged into the door, shoulder first. It didn't move. She had been locked in there, tight.

Again and again Haymitch tried, but each time, nothing happened. Finally the door gave way, and, when it did, the young man wasn't sure whether he was so prepared for what lay behind it.

Her body. Before, a beautiful pale, with an aura of love, trust, and care. Now, the decorated black hilt of a knife wedged into her chest, blood flooding the bathroom floor.

Furtivley, Haymitch checked her pulse, and pulled away. Lastly, he looked over her body. She looked asleep, if not for the puddle of blood caking her skin and the awkward way she was sprawled on the floor. Her eyes, her amazingly green eyes, tight shut. Her usually sleak auburn hair was curled around her face, knotted and untameable. One of her hands were loosley linked around the knife, but the man knew that Saphirre had not done this to herself. It was _not_ a suicide, no matter how much it looked like it, and even if the bathroom door was locked from the inside, he knew that Saphirre had more to live for and would never do this to herself.

Snow had found her. Haymitch knew he had failed his brother's will. He remembered, like it was yeasterday, his brother's words. _Keep her safe, Haymitch. She means the world to me._ In his same, deep, husky voice, clear, yet troubled. That was after they were married, Saphirre and Haymitch's brother, Ackley, and Haymitch had explained the true circumstances of how their parents had died.

_He wasn't surprised. He used his clear and level head,weighing out the options, before saying, "bound to happen. You're the example, Haymitch, to the other Victors. You have to stay strong. Show 'em that Snow'll never get to you. Got it?" he looked right into my eyes, waiting for my response. I nodded, slowly, trying to process it all myself. Does this mean that Ackley has given up? Or was he just telling me, so I'd remember, or – this seemed to be the most likely circustance – was he trying to give me an aulterior motive for staying sane once his imminent death occoured?_

The gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach increased, and the man doubled over on his knees, in obvious discomfort. His hands were shaking uncontrollably, so he slammed them, face down, onto the tiled floor. The pressure which he pushed them down caused his hands to pale considerably, seeing as he was usually tanned.

He felt the urge to punish himself. The dreaded feeling inside himself was not enough; nor were the salty tears rapidly trailing down his cheeks. He tried to stand, but he was too weak. His shivering hand reached for the knife, still lodged in her chest, until he heard the innocent voice from downstairs, pleading for him to come down, to tell him what had happened, but he also heard the worry in her voice.

Tentaivley, Haymitch walked down the stairs, using the railing to support the weight of his body. He knew he was needed. And that was all _he_ needed, too.

Carrying a body in his arms, Haymitch lowered her to the floor, and Amaya followed silently behind. Her eyes were glued to her mother's body, and even though Haymitch origianally protested in Amaya attending the funeral, her knew there wasn't much he could do to stop her.

"_Uncle Haymitch?", she whispered, her voice wavering. "Where's Mummy gone?" Amaya asked, her eyes  
filled with tears as she looked at her feet. The man sighed, looking twice his age with the deep wrinkles on his forehead and across his face._

"_I don't know, honey", Haymitch said, exasperated. He knew that he would somehow have to explain to his neice where her mother had gone, but could never approach the conversation himself. Everytime he would run the conversation over in his head, it would either come out wrong or wasn't satisfactory enough to explain what Haymitch truly wanted to say. He wanted to tell Rose that he would be there for her, but didn't know how if he couldn't look after her himself. He wanted to tell her not to be afraid, but how could he if he was scared? Scared for his neice, that, once found would be killed, for numerous reasons, including that she is related to him._

_All throughout his games, Haymitch was under the faulse illusion that, once won, the games wouldn't effect his life, apart from the wealth and riches that would be showered upon him. He was evidently wrong, seeing as his whole family was dead, and the only reminants was the little girl standing infront of him, in a crumpled plaid dress._

"_She's with Daddy," Haymitch said, his voice cracking, "and they're very, very happy together, yeah? And they want you to be happy, too, Rose. They want you to be happy, too." His voice was filled with sadness, which ebbed in their surroundings._

_Her bright eyes, even after so many battles, looked up towards him. "Do they love me?" Rosee said._

_The tears Haymitch had been trying to keep in for so long slid down his cheeks, whilst he pulled her into a fatherly hug. "More than the world"._

_So, finally, Rose accepted the fact that her parents were gone and that she was left as an orphan, as there was nothing else left for her to do._

Haymitch had carefully dug the grave, by hand, as this was the Seam tradition.

Only himself and Rose attended the lonley funeral. Sapphire had many friends; no doubt, but Haymitch didn't want to invite them. Didn't want to tell them how Sapphire died, for they would all take it as a sucicide, whereas Haymitch knew otherwise. And he didn't want his sister-in-laws' last impression on people to be that she killed herself. He wanted to tell everyone that it was Snow, the dreaded Capitiol, but that would just put Rose in danger, as they would go after her if they knew the true reason why the lady with green eyes was murdered.

So he told no-one of the funeral. And no-one attended, apart from the people who loved Sapphire most. At last, she would be with her husband, Ackley, and she would be happy. Just like Haymitch explained to the little, tearful girl. How much he tried to believe it himself.

After lowering her into the narrow pit, Rose and Haymitch started the proccession . With each shovelful, they said something they loved about Sapphire, something the missed, something that would be with them forever, and something that they cherished.

"The way your hair was really soft".

"Family always came before friends".

"You always looked at the good things in life. Even when things were tough."

"You never got angry at me, no matter whatever I had done".

"You were the calmest person I've had the pleasure to meet".

And slowly, after many tears and shovels, the grave was built. And neither Rose or Haymitch had anything left to say.

"Why can't I live with _you_, Uncle Haymitch?", she asked, fearful, that after losing so much, she would lose her Uncle, too. The only person left.

He looked down at her lovingly, trying to explain it in words she would understand, as, even though she's seen so much, Haymitch had to repeatedly remind himself that Rose is still the young age of seven. Far too young to explain the real reason why she had to stay at the shabby, dark orphanage. Or, perhaps, Haymitch was scared that she would blame him for everything, even though she had every right to blame him for the passing of her parents. He wanted to keep Rose at the orhanage, at the hope that Snow wouldn't find her, and that she'd be safe until adulthood, when she would live on her own and Haymitch didn't have to worry about her anymore.

Maple always did say that he worried too much. Haymitch tried to shake the thought out of his head, because she would be his, and he would always love her, even if she had been hung soon after his games.

Another supposed suicide.

Oh, how Haymitch hated the Capitol. So he vowed to himself to keep Rose safe, even if it meant doing the worst thing possible in order to achieve the best, and keep her alive. If she were just another helpless orphan, the Peacekeepers would just turn a blind eye. And there would be no way Snow would know about Rose. So Haymitch had to do the thing which was the most repulsive option: distance himself from his last family member. Not being able to see her everyday, to dote on her like he always did. He knew he would soon grow to hate himself for deciding Rose's horrible fate.

"I'm sorry, hun", Haymitch said, trying to make sense of the event himself. "But you can't stay with me. I wouldn't be able to look after you properly".

Haymitch had found Sapphire's will. She, unlike Ackley, had written one, and had appointed Haymitch guaridian of Rose. But Haymitch would never take that resposibility. He wondered, for hours upon hours the night before, why she had written that. Sapphire knew what was at stake, more than most, but still, she wrote that. Maybe she knew that she was going to leave soon, and wanted her daughter to be with her. Or maybe she just wasn't thinking straight.

Haymitch would never be able to figure it out.

And, with that, Haymitch signed the files, handing Rose over to the orphanage forever, and walked out, but not before glancing over his shoulder and giving Rose an encoraging smile.

_Rose is nine_

"So… why do I have to do this again, Uncle?" Rose asked, trying to lift the heavy sword. Haymitch reached out and took it out of her hands with great ease, and ignored his neices' question.

He had decided, long ago but soon after her parent's death, that he would teach Rose the ways of the sword. If she knew self-defence, then he wouldn't have to worry about her as much, for he lived in fear, that, as soon as she turned twelve, she would face the reaping. Which, she would. And if she got reaped, there would be nothing that Haymitch could do to stop her, or the Capitol, and her fragile frame would be ripped apart by those despicable Careers.

"Let's start off with one of these", Haymitch said, picking out a smaller knife. He had taken Rose out into the woods, the only place that never gets checked by Peacekeepers and that isn't bugged, like his house.

"Throw it to that tree", Haymitch commanded, pointing to a tree not even five metres away. Rose wavered, never having seen her Uncle taking on such a possesive posture. Haymitch nodded, ebbing her on. Slowly, Rose threw the knife, and it landed a metre short of the target, lodging itself into the ground until the blade wedged out of place and landed on the ground. Bashful, Rose looked down at her feet, ashamed that she let down her uncle.

But Haymitch was undettered.

"Do it again", he commanded, and Rose grabbed another knife from the stack, this one slightly more heavier than the last, continually throwing knifes, aim improving rapidly with every shot. The last shot spurred her on, until, finally, after an exceedingly tired arm, the knife lodged itself comfortably into the middle of the tree, only the hilt visible.

From behind, Rose heard her uncle laugh, a big, booming laugh, in celebration, almost, which pulled her out of her stupor. A line of knifes lead up to the tree, where the top one was wadged in triumphantly. Rose let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding.

"Tomorrow we work on stamina," Haymitch said, starting to retrive the knifes. "Seeing as you've got this pretty much sorted. You're a natural!" he laughed again, only this time it was more like a chuckle. He threw the knifes into the bag and spun Rose around, whilst she giggled.

And that's how Rose's training began.

**ok, ok, ok! first chapter, thoughts? i have to admit, this is the longest chapter i've every done! i would love your comments on it, and please review!**

**Ausilin**


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